


so comes snow after fire (5+1)

by PeachGO3



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Horseback Riding, Ice Skating, Post-War of the Ring, Tolkien Secret Santa, Winter, rated T for inexplicit lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: Newly-wed Éowyn and Faramir experience their first joint winter in Ithilien – five times they undertake winter activities and one time they don’t.Something short and sweet for @carnetdesipho on tumblr.
Relationships: Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	so comes snow after fire (5+1)

**Author's Note:**

> Reading this, you can listen to Three Wishes for Cinderella on repeat. Just saying;;

The first rays of sunlight had hardly touched the white hills of Emyn Arnen when a delicate food stepped onto the ice of the glistening pond behind the house where descendants of Húrin lived. “Careful,” Faramir cautioned, but Éowyn was already whirling around on her skates. “I haven’t done this for so long,” she uttered. Her nervous breathing made the air crystalize in an instant, and Faramir held out a hand.

“It is strong enough,” she said to him. Her face was earnest, but her legs trembled. It was seldom to see such stark concentration on her face. It was delightful.

“Careful,” Faramir repeated, but Éowyn, serious as ever, signalled him she had control. “I can manage it. I can… Come on onto the ice!”

“It would have been more thoughtful had I stepped onto it before you did,” Faramir said with a nod, arms swimming as he slid forward. He could not stop his amusement from tainting his voice.

“Because you are heavier than I?” asked Éowyn, probably to distract herself. She gasped when she did stumble over her feet and fell right into Faramir’s arms. The surprise took them both down.

Not even crunching, the ice stayed strong, Faramir noticed. Then he looked into Éowyn’s bright eyes beside him. “Hello,” he greeted playfully.

“Are you hurt?” she blurted out, and her stern eyes made him blush helplessly and swallow down any drollery he might have had left. The White Lady of Rohan possessed the gallantry of a chevalier. Her attentive eye noticed his bashfulness, so she softened and steadied his cold chin with elegant hands to face him. “It seems to me neither of us is qualified to lead the other, clumsy as we are,” she smiled.

“You have done this before,” Faramir said softly, “whereas I have never worn these shoes.”

“There are _skates_ ,” Éowyn laughed and rolled around to get them onto their feet again.

“They are extremely… slippery,” Faramir said, holding her hands tightly to keep himself steady.

“That is the idea,” Éowyn explained. “You move with the flow of the ice. You should see the pirouettes my brother can do.”

“I am afraid I don’t even know how to move forward,” Faramir sighed and looked up through lose strands of hair. “Please,” he smiled, “take the lead.”

Éowyn returned the smile just as brightly before returning to her seriousness about the task. “It will be my pleasure. Hold on tight!”

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

With this year’s last carriage, a package had arrived for Faramir and Éowyn. It was a wooden box. Inside of it was a letter, on top of smaller boxes and thick cloths. “It is from the Shire. From Merry and Pippin!” Faramir read with joy.

“How sweet! Do you mean to say the whole box?” Éowyn asked in awe.

“Yes,” Faramir said and opened the letter to read it to Éowyn. Pippin sent them one of the Shire’s most traditional winter recipes. “’For apple cider. And some of the best apples I could find, so that you can start to brew right away’,” Faramir read. He narrowed his eyes when he continued: “’How cruel it would’ve been if you had no apples at hand to try this out immediately’.”

“What a friend,” Éowyn smiled.

Merry on the other hand had sent them herbs from Buckland and recommended to either ’brew a tea or smoke them in your favourite pipe’.

Faramir lowered the paper. “Small devil.”

“Don’t be mean,” Éowyn laughed, taking the bags of herb from the box. “Merry knows all about weed and smoking.”

“That’s what has me worried,” Faramir said.

“There is no need to worry, beloved,” Éowyn reassured him and took a deep breath as she opened the bag. “My Merry would never – Oh.”

They did brew the apple cider but could not stay awake long enough to taste it. The sweet scent mixed with the bitter smoke of the herbs. “Small devil,” Faramir laughed when he collapsed onto the kitchen table. Éowyn leaned onto him, pipe smoking in her hand. She giggled sweetly ere falling asleep on his chest.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

Éowyn helped shovelling snow just like Faramir, and it warmed his heart to be able to call this golden-hearted woman his wife. He would’ve loved her equally if she had stayed inside in the warm chambers, but he would not have been this flustered by her strength, as he was now. The iron shovels were heavy even to fit men, but Éowyn used them as though they weighed nothing.

Faramir could hardly get his own work done. Face boiling, he preferred to clear the path on the Western side of the house.

“Here,” Éowyn said when they had sat down onto the snow mountains with the other servants. She handed him a warm cup of apple cider. “A strong beverage for a strong worker,” she smiled, cupping her own drink with both hands. She looked tiny in all those pelts, and her knuckles were pink from the cold.

Faramir thanked her and silently sat down by her side, cup steaming merrily between his hands. Ahead, the house’s warm lights were dancing at the end of the snow path.

“I must say,” Éowyn said somewhen, “that I was tempted to hollow out this very mountain and make it our winter residence. I heard houses of snow are surprisingly warm inside, once there are people living inside of them.”

“So you’ve heard?” Faramir asked and swallowed. If his Éowyn would be inside with him, his love for her would melt down the whole mountain, he was sure.

“Yes,” she said softly, “so I have heard.” Her head came down to rest on Faramir’s shoulder, glowing with adoration.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

He knew an Elvish recipe for sweet pastry.

Neither Faramir nor Éowyn were especially talented when it came to cooking, but Faramir did know a thing or two about baking, which was what he yearned to do with Éowyn ever since he had stepped into their house’s kitchen, and now that dream of his would finally come true. Éowyn hurry-scurried through the room like a bee in spring, but Faramir was not only enchanted by her – this dough was delicious even on its own. Time after time, he would stand by the oven and nick a tiny bit of the Elvish miracle.

Sighing, Éowyn gave him a playful look over the table. “If this hobbit keeps stealing dough, there won’t be enough for the biscuits,” she said.

“I can hardly claim to be a hobbit, lazy and truant as I am,” Faramir replied.

Éowyn laughed. “You are not truant! You’re hard-working and sweet.”

“Thank you,” Faramir said and bowed overdramatically. Right afterwards, he nicked another bit of dough from the bowl, making his wife gasp in mockery. “You filthy thief,” she said.

“Am I not ‘sweet’?” he asked, standing up to embrace her.

Éowyn’s eyes scanned his like two sapphire hawks. “You are,” she whispered and reached for his hand, sticky from dough. Without looking down, she kissed Faramir’s fingertips, one by one, tender and careful. Then she guided his fingers to ghost over her puffy lips, melting into the touch.

Oh, Son of Gondor, catch your breath.

“Yes,” Éowyn whispered with a gleeful giggle that made her eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky – oh, Eärendil would have fallen silent in awe. She took his hands in hers. “True it is,” she repeated, “you are indeed very sweet.”

Faramir felt like falling onto his knees and marrying her all over again.

Just as he wanted to shower her with every kind of poetic metaphor that came to his mind, Éowyn’s face formed a frown, and she asked, “What’s that smell?”

“The first baking sheet,” Faramir gasped.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

The sun was low, but neither the horses nor their riders were thinking of going home. Éowyn’s white robes were flying as she put Windfola to a trot. She smirked over her shoulder as Faramir still thought about her request.

“A Rohirrim is challenging me to a horse race?”

“Do not receive it ill, my love,” she smiled, stopping and caressing her horse. It was her element after all.

“I do not,” said Faramir, “but the unfairness of the situation can hardly escape you.”

“Let’s see if you can escape _me_ , Steward of Gondor. To the White Mountains!” Not wanting to lose, Faramir stormed after her, up the hills, hooves swirling up snow dust that drew wondrous patterns in the wind. Éowyn seemed to fly, but always made sure her husband would not fall too far behind her. On top of a hill, right beneath the pastel coloured sky, they stopped side by side, breathing hard as their laughter cut the fresh air. How beautiful a land! Every tree in sight, every blade of grass was glistening with ice, dreaming frozen dreams.

“Oh, to be here with the White Lady of Rohan,” sighed Faramir, leaning sideways to rest his forehead against Éowyn’s. She smiled against his yearning lips. “To be here with my beloved,” she answered, kissing him tenderly ere lashing down the hill, white robe blending into frozen ground.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

The raging snowstorm, a phenomenon not uncommon despite Gondor’s mild winters, did not permit them to go outside that day. Instead, Faramir and Éowyn stayed inside all afternoon, and not only that; they had hardly left their chamber. There was enough firewood to keep them warm until nightfall.

When that time of day had come, Faramir had pulled a blanket over his beloved and caressed her tired face. Éowyn was so beautiful, so graceful in the dying light of the fire that he could not help but kiss her. Tender hands stroked wavy strands of hair back into place, and as Éowyn did this, the robe slid down her shoulder to reveal a bit of her fair skin.

Faramir was awed, enchanted by his lady’s beauty. Helpless, he bent down to her shoulder, fondling every inch of it as she sighed contently beneath him. Her voice reassured him his kisses were placed well. Here by the fire, Faramir saw to his wife’s needs, and he withdrew when he felt her tremble and light the silent chamber with her glow.

“What about you?” Éowyn asked him with rosy cheek, caressing his face.

“I am fine,” Faramir assured her with a heavy breath and a smile. Both were tired after all, despite having done nothing today. Faramir silently snuggled up to her, resting his head on her lovely chest, where it was warm and safe. He closed his eyes as he embraced her under the soft blanket, feeling sleep prevail over desire.

Éowyn’s stroked his hair. Her voice was like velvet when she said, “My eternal beloved, you make me smile so much. What fortune, what bliss to be able to be with you! I am forever grateful. Faramir.”

“So am I,” said Faramir. He held onto her as though to never let her go, and she did the same. Whilst the snowstorm howled, they blissfully sang each other to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for @carnetdesipho – I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone reading. Have a nice, wondrous and safe winter ♡


End file.
